


I Want To Hold Your Hand

by ImagineBeatles



Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-02
Updated: 2018-08-02
Packaged: 2019-06-20 16:53:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15538746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImagineBeatles/pseuds/ImagineBeatles
Summary: Paul has been in love with John since they first met and has been dropping hints left and right, but John never caught on. Now he tries to be a bit more forward and writes John a song.





	I Want To Hold Your Hand

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on tumblr

 “I wrote a new song.” John looked up from his guitar on which he had been mindlessly playing some Elvis songs while they waited for Brian to call them down to drive to the theatre they were going to play at that evening. As his eyes met his own, Paul quickly looked away from him and down at his hands, in which he was holding a crumpled piece of paper that he had folded over once. It was ridiculous how nervous he was. After all, he had written plenty of songs for the band before and had always been glad to let John have a look at them, and many of them had been far worse than this one, but this time it was different, because this time it actually _meant_ something and it was important that John liked it. Honestly, he wasn’t sure what he would do if John hated it. It was perhaps a little… cutesy. Would John make fun of him for it?

“I didn’t know you were working on something new,” John remarked with a frown as he put his guitar aside and reached out to take the piece of paper from him. Paul swallowed thickly and took a deep breath before handing it over to John. He cursed silently to himself as he noticed his hands were trembling slightly and quickly drew them back to his sides once John had taken the piece of paper. He watched quietly as John opened the note and started reading it. Paul walked over to the couch opposite him and grabbed his acoustic, which was leaning against it, and tried to calm himself by fiddling around with a few chords, just to have something to do and take his mind off what it exactly was that John was reading. He hoped John liked it.

“New girlfriend, Macca?” John suddenly remarked with an amused chuckle and Paul blushed as he looked up at him, offering him a careful smile.

“More like an old one,” he replied, and John frowned at that, before turning back to the piece of paper in his hands. Paul sighed, not sure if he ought to feel relieved or not that John again didn’t realise anything. The man never did. Paul had been in love with him since the day they first met and had been dropping hints left and right since day one and yet John never seemed to realise what he meant with it, always putting off his light-hearted flirting as friendly teasing or just him being a “daft git”. Paul hadn’t meant to write him a song, but it had simply flown out through his fingertips one late evening after he had spent an entire day writing songs with John and had actually felt jealous of John’s guitar for being touched by his beautiful hands, while he could only long in silence, hoping John would eventually find out and touch him like that. John had touched him when they had said goodbye and as John had slapped his shoulder in that friendly manner of his that screamed friendship, he had felt shivers run through his entire body and had felt so flustered because of it, he had had some difficulty breathing.  He had felt stupid and ridiculous, and yet he had written that song. He hadn’t meant to show it to him. In truth, he had wanted to tear it up and throw it in the bin, but George had found it and told him it was great and that he had to show John and he had had no other choice from then on. So here he was, silently hoping John would finally notice how he felt about him. John was right. He was a “daft git”.

“Play it for me!” John spoke from the couch, breaking Paul’s train of thought. It took him a while to realise just what John had asked him to do. Refusing to look at his friend, he nodded, placed his fingers in the right position and started strumming. It was a soft, slow little melody, sounding melancholic and full of genuine longing, that only increased when Paul started singing, his voice trembling ever so slightly.

_“Oh yeah, I’ll tell you somethin’_  
_I think you’ll understand_  
_When I say that somethin’_  
_I want to hold your hand_  
_I want to hold your hand  
_ _I want to hold your hand_

  _Oh please, say to me  
_ _You’ll let me be your man  
_ _And please, say to me  
_ _You’ll let me hold your hand  
_ _Now let me hold your hand  
_ _I want to hold your hand_

  _And when I touch you  
_ _I feel happy inside  
_ _It’s such a feeling that my love  
_ _I can’t hide  
_ _I can’t hide  
_ _I can’t hide_

_Yeah, you got that somethin’_  
_I think you’ll understand_  
_When I feel that somethin’_  
_I want to hold your hand_  
_I want to hold your hand_  
_I want to hold your hand_  
_I want to hold your hand  
_ _I want to hold your hand_

Halfway through the song, George had stepped into their little hotel suite, carrying a brown paper bag with something that was presumably a sandwich and had taken a seat next to John and was watching him curiously as he played, his food temporarily forgotten. Paul tried not to look at John as he sang, knowing he wasn’t going to make it through it if he did. When he strummed the last chord, he let out a deep breath, happy that he had made it through without mucking up, and finally looked up, nervous to see what he would find in John’s eyes. George looked impressed, as he still had not touched his food and was nodding appreciatively as offered Paul an encouraging smile. George knew what the song really meant. He had from the moment he had heard it and had promised Paul that John would be one stupid man if he didn’t figure it out too. Paul could only hope so. Although at the same time that same thought scared him. John, however, looked less impressed and right away Paul’s face fell.

“So? What do you think?” Paul asked anyway, already fearing the answer.

John shrugged. “It’s great, really. The lyrics are catchy and sweet and the girls will love them, and the music sounds good too, it’s just… it sounds a little sombre though, doesn’t it?” he said, and Paul stared at him for a bit, his mind working quickly to figure out why John would think that was an issue.

“I think it works,” George quickly said, but John wasn’t convinced.

“It’s not bad, I just think that maybe we should speed it up a little. I mean, it sounds a little whiny, you know. Why not make it a happy song? That could work too.”

“Whiny?” Paul asked, and swallowed thickly when John nodded. A tremor of anger ran through his body and he gnawed his teeth as he put his guitar aside. “Well, maybe I like it whiny,” he shot at him, causing John to frown at his sudden forcefulness of tone.

“I’m only saying, why not make it happy? It works like that too. It’s only a damn suggestion, Paul.”

“John, I think it works the way Paul wants it. Why not just-”

“What the hell do you know of it, Harrison? I just think people will prefer listening to a happy song about two people in love, rather than having one pathetically long after the other. Nothing changes, just the tempo. I don’t get what the big deal is here! I help Paul with his songs and Paul helps me with mine! It always works like that,” John exclaimed, looking from Paul to George and back to Paul again. Paul, however, couldn’t look at him, feeling himself getting angrier and angrier at John, because he simply did not get it. It hurt, even more so than he had expected.  

“You know what, John?” he asked as he got to his feet. “Maybe I don’t want your help with this one. We’re doing it slow and I’m singing it.”

“Really? I think it’d work better if I sang it.”

“You?!”

“Yes! Give it a bit of a rough edge, you know,” John answered, and Paul growled loudly in frustration and he shot John one last angry glare, before he stormed out of the room, telling John to go fuck himself, before slamming the door to their shared bedroom shut, leaving a baffled John and an irritated George behind.

“What the fuck was that about? I was only helping him!” John asked, turning to George, who groaned as he rubbed his temples at John’s stupidity.

“Did it ever cross your mind that maybe, just maybe, there is a reason why Paul wants it to be a slow song? And that maybe he didn’t tell you he was writing it in the first place for a reason?” he asked, but John only stared back at him with a frown, obviously trying to think hard, but not managing to put one and one together. George never wanted to hit his friend more than he did at that moment. “Paul wrote that song for _you_ , John.”

“For me? Why would he write such a song for me?!”

“Oh, I don’t know! Maybe because he’s been in love with you since the day you two met?” George snapped at him sarcastically, now being really fed up. “Seriously, how could you not notice?!”

“P-Paul… in _love_? With me?”

“Do you want me to spell it out for you? Paul wants to hold your hand, John.”

“Oh…”

“Oh? That’s literally all you have to say?” George asked, as John turned his eyes to the door through which Paul had only seconds ago disappeared. For a moment, John said nothing, before he cursed.

“I-I didn’t know,” he said as he let a hand run through his hair, pushing it back and out of his face as he thought of things to do. “I should go talk to him.” And with that, George patted him on the shoulder as he got up, considering his job finally done, and needing someone else around him who wasn’t completely oblivious to everything in his life.

          John took a couple of deep breaths to calm himself as he stood before Paul’s door. It was eerily quiet inside, and that worried him. He could deal with an angry Paul, who would shout at him and call him names; he could even deal with a sulking Paul or a crying Paul, but when Paul had pulled up his walls, he had a hard time breaking through them. His friend could be as cold as ice when he wanted to and just as cynical and unforgiving as he, and John hoped Paul wasn’t like that right now. After all, it hadn’t been completely his fault. How could he have known that song had meant so much to Paul? That _he_ meant so much to Paul?

Finally gathering enough courage, John raised his hand and knocked a couple of times on the door in quick succession, hoping Paul would be willing to let him in and apologise. He held his breath as he waited for a reply, but when none came, he tapped again, only to be met with silence.

“Paul! I know you’re in there. I er… I came to apologise,” he called, but again there was no answer. Sighing, he turned to look if George was still there to help him, but he and his sandwich had vanished, leaving him helpless. He let his forehead rest against the door, unwilling to give up yet.

“Paul, please. Open the door,” he asked in an almost begging tone, and this time an answer came, but not one he had wanted.

“Piss off, John!” Paul shouted at him from behind the door, and John grimaced, secretly relieved Paul still took the effort to shout at him.

“Please, Paul. Don’t do this. I-I’m sorry, okay?” Again, it remained silent, and John had just been about to give Paul some time and come back later, when he heard the door unlock. Surprised, John stared down at the handle in his hand and gently turned it, smiling when it opened. His smile quickly vanished however, when the door was fully open and he was met with his friend’s death-like expression. His eyes were wide and blank, looking straight into his soul with an icy glare, and he had his arms crossed before his chest. For a moment John was lost for words, suddenly unsure what to say to the younger man now he was face to face with him.

“You’re sorry?” Paul finally asked, his voice as icy as his stare.

John nodded. “George told me. I-I didn’t know, Paul,” he said with pleading eyes, but Paul seemed to not care about his feelings, for which John could hardly blame his friend. The younger man had been about to shut the door in his face again, but John quickly stuck his foot between the door, as he looked at Paul with the best pleading eyes he could manage. “Please, Paul,” he tried again, and finally, with a tired, self-loathing sigh, Paul stepped aside to let John in.

John followed him inside, watching Paul closely as he went to sit down on the bed, his back turned to John. He shut the door behind him and hovered around by the door some more, uncertain of what to do next. He had never been good at apologising, and this especially was a new situation for him. Paul _loved_ him. He had written that song for him. And he had gone and criticised it like the stupid idiot he was. What could he possibly say to that? And more importantly, did he love Paul too?

Finally, he stepped closer to Paul and took a seat on the end of the bed, his body turned to Paul, but not sitting too close, knowing it would be easier for the both of them if they weren’t too close and didn’t have to look at each other. They sat in silence for a while, neither of them speaking, both unsure and scared how the other would react if they did. In the end, John knew he was going to have to say something. They couldn’t leave this hanging in the air and pretend it never happened. Not anything as major as this. After all, he did not want to lose Paul, his mate, his best friend, his partner. There was something painful about the thought of ever losing Paul. Something he hadn’t felt before. It hurt when he thought about never seeing Paul again, or hearing him laugh, sing, joke around, see those beautiful puppy eyes look at him with that special shimmer that he now knew had been love. To never touch him again or talk to him or just have him near. Was that love?

“Why didn’t you tell me?” John heard himself saying, his voice sounding strange, even in his own ears. Paul scoffed, catching John’s attention who looked up at him, staring at the back of his head.

“That I somehow had managed to fall in love with me best mate? That I’m fucking queer for me best mate? Jeez, John, I can’t possibly think of any fucking reason why I might not have told you,” Paul snapped at him, sounding pissed, but there was a sadness there too. John didn’t like hearing that emotion in his friend’s voice.

“Paul-”

“It’s not like I didn’t fucking try, of course. But you were also too fucking blind to notice anything. Hell, George caught on before you did, for fuck’s sake!”

“I-I’m sorry, I-”

“It hurts, you know that? We’ve known each other for six years John and still… _still_ it fucking hurts whenever I see you around Cyn, or chatting up girls, or when you’re too stupid to catch on to my fucking hints. To know and feel that you only see me as your mate. It-it hurts like hell,” Paul continued, his voice breaking at the end and John could hear him sniffle softly when he felt quiet again. Just that little sound was enough to break his heart and he wished he could do something, anything for his friend. But his friend wouldn’t even give him a chance to explain. To apologise. So, the only way he could make Paul understand was to show him.

John glanced into the direction of Paul again, feeling his body tense up as he saw Paul raise his hand to his face, probably wiping away a tear that had managed to escape. His other hand - his right - rested on the bed. John swallowed as he watched Paul’s fingers flex against the material of the bed, and took a deep breath before stretching out his own hand and gently laying it on top of Paul’s, his fingers tangling with Paul’s. The boy tensed up at the sudden touch and his head snapped to his direction, making John gasp as he saw his face. His large doe-eyes were shot red and his cheeks had a faint flush on them. His lips were trembling slightly and there was something of fear on his features. When he tried to pull his hand free, John tightened his hold, refusing to let him go. Paul shook his head as he looked down again.

“P-please, John. Don’t do this,” he asked, his voice weak.

“But I want to.”

“It’s too painful,” Paul objected, but John only squeezed his hand as he watched Paul, the solution slowly becoming clearer and clearer in his mind.

“It doesn’t have to be painful,” John whispered, feeling his cheeks heat up at his own words as he realised that he, indeed, loved Paul, the thought of ever having to let go of Paul’s hand only causing him to hold onto him tighter. Paul finally looked up at him, angling his face up slightly as he looked John in the eye with a slight frown on his face, eagerly looking for answers. John forced himself to smile.

“Would you let me love you?” John asked, knowing he and Paul were going to have a long laugh about how daft they had sounded during this whole thing later. But if it was going to make this all right, it would be worth it, and John wouldn’t even mind. A flicker of happiness spread over Paul’s face, lighting up his features, before his face suddenly fell and he looked away again.

“If this is some kind of sick joke, John-” he started, but John quickly shook his head and shuffled closer to his friend, shocked that Paul would think that lowly of him.

“No! Paul, I-I… want to hold your hand,” John finally said, and Paul stared down a bit longer, refusing to meet John’s eyes as his fingers twitched in John’s hand. John held his breath as he waited for Paul’s reaction, hoping the younger man would believe him and give him a chance. Hoping he could still make it all right. Then, Paul’s shoulders began to shake and a tiny sound came from the younger man. For a moment John thought Paul was crying, for real this time, and he had been about to pull the boy again to him, when Paul raised his head and he could hear he wasn’t in fact crying, but laughing.

“That’s that worst thing I’ve ever heard,” Paul said as he continued laughing, turning his head to look at John, and when he saw the huge grin and that familiar warm flicker in his friend’s eyes, he knew Paul was fine - they were fine, and he laughed along, feeling so utterly happy and relieved that Paul had seemed to forgiven him and was his old happy self again - the Paul that John knew.

“I do mean it, you know,” John finally said as their laughter died down, and Paul blushed at his words, but this time didn’t look away and only smiled back at him, hope and love written on his entire face, and John wondered how he had never noticed that before. Feeling brave and knowing Paul would not reject him now, he shuffled closer and leaned in, looking Paul deep in the eye as he offered Paul the chance to pull away if he would refuse him. But he didn’t. Instead, Paul stared back at him, looking somewhat surprised, but unwilling to pull away, so John closed the gap and gently captured Paul’s full lips with his own, feeling how Paul shuddered as they locked together for their first kiss. A shiver ran down John’s spine at the feeling of his best friend’s lips against his own and the feeling of his stubble against his chin, making it so undeniably clear just who he was kissing, and therefore making it so much better.

The kiss was tentative and short-lived, both men still unsure how to kiss another man, and trying to figure out what the other liked and what not. Both men’s hearts were thumping in their chests, and when Paul’s hand came up to grab at John’s shirt and hold him, they were trembling, but neither man truly minded, and when they pulled away, they both giggled as they stared in each other’s eyes, before they met again for another kiss. This time it was less hesitant, but the kiss remained soft and tentative, both afraid they would scare the other off if they did anything wrong.

“So…” Paul whispered when they broke away again, his face still only inches away from John’s as their hands still lay tangled together on the bed between them. “This is it then?”

John chuckled at that and nodded, looking down at said hands when he felt Paul’s thumb stroking the back of his hand.

“You know, I’ve been thinking,” Paul continued, and when John looked up at him again, he was staring at their hands as well, a happy little smile twitching on his lips. “Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if we were to speed up the song and make it happy?”

“Really?” John asked, and Paul shrugged, obviously nervous about what he had to say.

“We could maybe even sing it together? Make it a duet. To fit in with that lovers-idea you had, you know? Like they’re singing it to each other?”

“If you don’t mind,” John said, and Paul shook his head as he finally looked up at him again, taking John’s breath away as their eyes locked.

“I would even prefer it,” he confessed, and with that John kissed him again. They could laugh about how daft they were being later. For now, he only wanted to enjoy it. Because he loved Paul. And Paul loved him. And who cares if they’re being a little daft every once in awhile? John certainly didn’t.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was graciously imported from tumblr by [CJD](https://chut-je-dors.tumblr.com/) who is a good friend and overall pretty amazing. Suck it, Puck


End file.
